


The Woodcutter

by McLavellan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Slow Burn - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Battle fatigue, Found Family, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence and Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-12-07 18:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan
Summary: An ex soldier looks for a new life on an island far from home and finds an entire new world.***The cottage lies near the coast and closer still to a crop of trees that, a little further on, are overlooked by a great deal more. Not quite a forest, the locals say, but close enough. It is old and full of stories or magic or both





	1. The Cottage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cullenlovesmen (handersmyheart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handersmyheart/gifts).



> The rating, warnings, and tags will change. I'm just not sure what to yet.....
> 
> But listen. I like cullbastian. I like fairy tales. I like werewolves. And I like Angela Carter..... So. Here we are. 
> 
> This is also a prompt that got carried away....
> 
> “you’re making me think that what they told me about you was right.”

The cottage lies near the coast and closer still to a crop of trees that, a little further on, are overlooked by a great deal more. Not quite a forest, the locals say, but close enough. It is old and full of stories or magic or both.

The cottage, too, is old. It feels as though it has been excavated, a relic from centuries ago, the roof green with moss and inside is formed of only three rooms. The largest room is where he lives, with the old oven serving as heating in the cold early winter. Above this is a bedroom full of old furniture, including a bed, but Cullen sleeps on the long couch in the main room, close to the warmth, whatever he can get of it. The third room is an outhouse that is now an in house with just enough plumbing to pass as early modern.

It's not much, but it's his, and it is not his past.

 

He has only been to the village once, to buy a little food, as he can only afford a little. The money from the army went on the train, the ferry, and then the cottage. He had not been to see it; he’d only read an advert and decided to move as far away from everything he knew as he could. That it is only the other end of the country is of little importance - it is far enough.

So far, that he does not expect visitors and tenses in fear as there comes a knocking at the door. 

“Who is it?” he asks, voice shaking as he stammers the words. He has barely spoken since leaving the life he once knew. 

“A welcoming party,” a jovial voice returns. 

Cullen lifts the latch and opens the door a little to see five smiling faces. 

“Might we come in?”

Scratching the hairs on his chin, regretting the messy state of himself and of his home, he nods regardless and steps aside as they enter. 

His visitors are: Sebastian Vael, the part time priest and owner of the largest house on this part of the island. His family goes back to ancient times and his eyes are bright and blue like the skies Cullen has not yet seen here. Next is Carver Hawke, apparently of an infamous family that had moved from the mainland some years ago. He has arms like tree trunks and is both grocer and deputy of the fire department. Aveline Vallen, a tall, intimidating woman, serves as the local law. Practically single handedly, they joke. Varric Tethras, a short, stocky man, speaks with an American accent and runs the best pub in the village. Then there is Isabela, whom he has met before. She is the ferry Captain and claims to be much more besides. A knowing looks passes between the small party and Carver lifts a basket to Cullen. 

He finds, under the blanket draped over it, fruit, and vegetables, and tins, and bread, and cake. Aveline places warm clothes on the rickety table by the wall, besides which Varric places a crate of ale. Isabela gifts him a pack of cards and many candles with the assurance they will come in very handy up here. Lastly, Father Vael hands Cullen a red coat, thick and furlined and -

“Much more suitable than your raincoat.”

Cullen does not like charity - does not feel deserving - and somehow the group see through this, tell him it is often the way of welcoming somebody new to the island, somebody who was not expecting the ferocity of the wind and rain. A friendly gesture extended to all that he need not be ashamed of, they tell him with these stories. And so he accepts, makes his excuses for not having a place to invite them to sit, but they are already shivering - already eager to leave, he is certain. 

And so they do, along with what little warmth their bodies had gathered in this stone house that seems only to keep within it a sense that it has existed forever, and will outlive all who enter. 


	2. The Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The island, the patch of it that Cullen now belongs to, is quiet. Some days he is certain he is the only living thing that exists here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read, inspired, cover art - all by [Cullenlovesmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handersmyheart/works).

 

The island, the patch of it that Cullen now belongs to, is quiet. Some days he is certain he is the only living thing that exists here, but occasionally he'll spot a seabird, or rather hear it, for the sea is at the end of the path, though from the cottage it is obscured by trees. There is one angle in the bedroom from which he can see it, but he doesn't like to be up there. It does not belong to him, he feels - not yet.

Time seems to be as infrequent a visitor as the living things. Cullen no longer counts the days - he simply tries to live them, though he cannot shake his need for a regime in any small size or shape. Here, he wakes when his body wishes, and then he prepares a breakfast he eats in the front garden, shielded from the wind, but able to hear the sea. After, he tidies, prepares a sandwich and fruit for later, packing them before checking his windowsill.

The first time he sees it is a day after his visitors have left. A fish, wrapped in paper and string, sits on the window by the door. He ignores it, supposing a fisherman has accidentally left it there while attending to business. He calls out and receives no answer, so he continues his regime.

This part is a walk, down the path to the sea - still no fisherman, but a few birds - and then along the coast to where it meets the trees. He takes a path he found, marked by red ribbons, old and tattered now, until he meets the sign urging him to turn back. Curiosity pulls at him, but so does his desire to be back at the cottage. Home. It feels like a fortress to him.

If it is warm enough, he picks through the upstairs room as respectfully as he can, seeing what has been left and what can be salvaged and what can be used for kindling. Most days it is cold and so he takes the fish before it spoils and bakes it - the only thing he knows to do with it - while burrowing under the blankets to read. He reads more now - he has the time and patience to do so.

But soon, he begins to run out of food and words and knows he must venture back to society and leave his blessed isolation behind.

He does not want to be around people, to be seen, or to feel the weight of their expectation. He does not want to see his visitors and have nothing to give them in return for their kind welcome, but he has no choice now.

He takes the red coat and leaves his haven.

Everybody knows him and he knows nobody. He smiles and nods as he passes, thankful for the wind and rain excusing him from stopping to talk. At least until Father Vael calls out to him, beckons him over, enticing him with a bright smile and the smell of warm food.

 “Mr. Rutherford. Glad to see you have ventured out. How are you enjoying life on the island?”

He smiles as he approaches, though now it's starting to feel less foreign to his face. “Very much. Though I need to learn to debone fish.”

 The priest's face lights up. “You fish? Then you're all set.”

Cullen brings his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. “Actually, I've been finding them. Left outside the cottage for hours. I can't seem to find who they belong to, though I really ought to?”

“You've been left fish?” the voice comes from behind him, high and accented and belonging to a small woman with large, curious eyes. “You've been visited by the fairies! Or maybe that thing, oh, whatever is his name?”

 The priest smiles and pats her on the shoulder. “Merrill, let me introduce you to-”

“Cullen Rutherford. The newcomer,” she finishes, smiling and shaking his hand. “I wanted to come welcome you, but there was nobody to watch the soup kitchen. Would you like some?”

Another act of charity. For the old, the sick, and the poor. Cullen shakes his head, and tries to excuse himself.

“What a shame,” the Priest says. “We could always do with another volunteer.”

He hesitates, caught in this man's act of kindness. Nobody has been as welcoming to him as this village - it unsettles him, though he feels that is mostly because he can find no insincerity in it. 


	3. The Town and its folk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our little man is getting out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Cullenlovesmen and vastly improved by her!
> 
> So Cullen's kitchen and the oven. It's an aga, essentially, I guess, but I'm trying to avoid naming the time and place of everything, so keeping it vague. But he lives in one room and the cooker is his heat source, basically.

Cullen's regime is changing. He sets an alarm to wake up, but is pleased to do so now. He prepares breakfast and eats it by the window, where he checks for fish; it is not every day he receives them, but they come regularly enough to keep him fed.

If it is there, he brings it in, either to prepare for himself or to pack for town. He goes to town three times a week now, and on one of those days, he gives his fish for the soup. He leaves notes for his fish-giving friend but never finds a reply.

He does not pack lunch when he goes to town and only walks a little way by the forest, still determined to explore it, but too busy to do so now. At the village, he collects Merrill; she is a sweet girl and very talkative - too talkative, she tells him, but he doesn't mind: the more she talks, the less he has to.

At the Soup Kitchen, known to all as simply The Kitchen, they wait for Father Vael who always frowns at the fish and insists Cullen does not need to bring it, but Cullen is driven by a need to help, and this is one of the few ways he is able to - right now, anyway.

Father Vael teaches him to debone a fish with swift, slender hands, and a look of determined concentration; he is adamant that Cullen learns to cook for himself.

With Merrill they prepare meals for the poor and sick and elderly. They eat lunch together in the small town hall and are later joined by others in the community on Thursdays to plan events, or to discuss troubles and needs. A man named Anders is often very outspoken - an atheist, Father Vael informs Cullen, but without any unkindness. And a pacifist, he adds, with a long look at him.

"What gave me away?" Cullen asks.

"Carver says he can spot a soldier a mile off."

They return to silence as Anders discusses the cold months ahead, the need to keep pipes from freezing, and to stay warm and check on neighbours.

Merrill asks if Cullen will be warm enough and he knows Father Vael is also studying his face as he answers. 

“I should think so. I understand the cooker a little better and I have more than enough blankets.”

“If you do get too cold,” she insists, “you can stay with me. Hopefully the Wulver will know where you are.”

The meeting ends before he can ask what the Wulver is, and they return to the kitchen to check the evening meals and wait for the hungry and lonely to come. They serve, they talk, then again join together for a meal once the crowd has died down.

"You're eating a lot," Merrill smiles at the priest.

"I'm sorry?" he asks, blushing.

"It’s good! But you really are eating a lot. What a big stomach you must have..."

Cullen, sat beside the priest, is becoming relaxed enough with these people that he prods the man's middle playfully, realising in that moment how little he has touched and been touched in the past months. "Not big enough. He could do with fattening up for the winter.”

The father ducks his head and mutters something. When questioned, he asks if it's a cold or a flu that you feed. 

Concerned, Cullen finds himself placing a hand on the priest’s forehead. ”Are you getting sick?”

“No, no,” he laughs, a flush creeping to his cheeks, and Cullen hastens to remove his hand; it feels like it's on fire, but perhaps it's his own shame that's burning.

“Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him,” Anders offers; he helps out at the Kitchen when he can. The Town Doctor is a drunk, and Anders seems to be the primary source of medical care for the surrounding villages - and their cats.

"He adopts strays," Father Vael smirks.

"As do you, church boy," the thin man strikes back, also smiling. "And here we have your latest? You're one of the flock, are you not?"

Cullen does not like to be put on the spot - especially now, considering his relationship with God - so he simply nods and focuses on his food.

Merrill turns the conversation to more fanciful things, as she often does.

One night a week, Cullen joins them at the pub where they meet the rest of his welcome party, and occasionally others. He doesn't know if these are his friends, but they are good company and, little by little, he begins to feel comfortable among them.


	4. The Circle, ever expanding

Under the sofa, on which Cullen sleeps, is a small tin lockbox. Every so often he pulls it out and opens it to count what money he has left: there is enough there to last him three months, comfortably. Of course, he is always too careful and too used to rationing to spend freely, but  
it is time, he decides, to find paid work. It might reduce the days he spends at the Kitchen with his usual company, but he is determined he will continue at least once a week, and uphold the ritual of visiting the pub with them, and losing at cards, and listening to Varric’s tall tales. 

He asks about the Wulver. The stories vary but a few things are certain: it is a largely benevolent creature with the head of a wolf, and it has not been thought of for many decades now. It is the grandmothers and grandfathers of the island that remember the last time fish were left outside the homes of the sick and the poor and the needy. 

Cullen blushes at this, for he hates to think of himself as any of those things, though he has been all of them. Varric, seeing his discomfort, dismisses the idea that it is real and they begin their theories as to who the kind stranger might be. 

When everyone at the table denies involvement, Cullen feels uneasier still. “Well, perhaps it will stop taking pity when I start working.”

There are jobs around the nearby towns. It would mean long walks and Cullen is not afraid of those, nor the early mornings they would entail, but Aveline joins them just then, tired and frustrated. “Since Henrik died, people have been going into the woods to help themselves.”

This is a bad thing, Anders explains, as he often sees them later as patients. “Either they eat something they shouldn't, twist an ankle, or almost chop off their own limbs.”

Carver sits back and waves a hand at Cullen. “There you go. You like walking the woods and it's close to your cottage. How do you fancy yourself a woodcutter?”

“I… suppose I could manage that.”

Carver slaps his hand down on the table and grins at Aveline. “And you all thought Marian was the bright one. Once Rylen gets back to the island, he'll have Cullen trained up in no time.”

The name hits Cullen like a bolt of lightning and he stutters it out. 

“Yeah, James Rylen. You-- do you know him?” Aveline asks, tilting her head in curiosity.

They have all stopped to look at him expectantly - even Father Vael, whose drink is held in place halfway to his lips. 

“I do. He was my second. He told me about this island, but I thought he lived on the mainland with his wife?”

“Second what?” Vael asks, and his tone is almost icy. The party now directs its attention to him. 

“In command,” Aveline offers, throwing a glance to Cullen to see if she has presumed right. He nods and she continues, this time to him. “He comes over in the winter to take care of his grandmother. No doubt he'll stop once he has a family. It would be useful to have you helping us.”

Cullen is fond of Rylen, although man has seen him at his worst. On the other hand, he has also seen him at his best. Cullen agrees to take the work if he's found to be suitable for it and soon they being to share stories of their mutual friend. Cullen notices Vael shares little, and he assumes they do not know each other, but then he learns that Rylen’s wife, Hilda, is a cousin of the priest’s. All through the night he watches Cullen, oddly and intensely and Cullen cannot fathom why - the man knows he was a soldier and has not taken issue with it before now. 

"Sebastian?" Merrill intends to be quiet but catches Cullen's attention as she prods the man's arm. "Are you alright?"

Father Vael swallows his beer and forces a smile as he nods. "A little tired, I suppose. It's been so windy."

Talk turns to the priest's home. His mansion, empty and cavernous if the teasing is to be believed, is at the other end of the woods from Cullen's cottage. Once a grand, lively structure, it sits largely abandoned now.

"I much prefer to be with people in the church and town hall... Perhaps one day I'll begin renovations, but I'm not sure to what end."

"Parties," Isabela grins.

"A hotel!" Merrill offers, excitedly.

Father Vael nods politely to the suggestions, but his eyes flicker back to Cullen and for a moment seem sad.


	5. The Woodcutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is reunited with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to T as always!

James Rylen was once a handsome man. Some agree that he still is, while others seem to shy away when they see his face. Regardless, he has broad shoulders and an easy smile. His reunion with Cullen is a joyful one, though at first Cullen is nervous. Once Cullen sees his friend, his worries evaporate with each step he takes until they embrace, grinning like the young men they had once been. 

“The hell you doing up here?” Rylen asks. 

“You made it sound so perfect,” Cullen tells him. “Isolated, lost in time, quiet.”

Rylen laughs and shakes his head. “I believe the words I used were ‘arse end of nowhere, old fashioned, and dull’, actually.”

They laugh and Cullen almost feels he could cry; it's been so long since he has laughed so freely. 

He tilts his head at the scars on Rylen's face, clustered at his chin, and frowns. He remembers the beard Rylen had let grow out, and how it had showed the scars even more prominently. But to Cullen the man is still handsome - had been, even when his face was bloody and torn. 

“Hey,” the man laughs softly. “Rather have my scars on the outside than the inside.” He pats Cullen's shoulder and they head out. 

It is early in the morning, only the farmers and milkman are awake, and Cullen had made his way to town in the dark. Rylen promises him a better lantern than the one the wind kept whipping out, and they lead an ox and cart to the edge of the woods. 

“I'm sure you've heard the stories about witches and wee folk, but the only thing you need to worry about is sticking to the path.”

Cullen has certainly heard old wives tales, from old Aga to the Wulver, and Rylen has plenty more to tell him besides. 

“Sebastian swore he met a witch in the woods. She lived in a little hut by a bog,” Rylen reminisces. “He was a bit of a wild child, mind. Nobody believed him and I'm not sure he believes himself now.”

“You call him Sebastian?” Cullen asks. 

Rylen raises an eyebrow at the one thing Cullen has taken from the story, but nods. “He's family now. And a friend in my younger days - as much as he ever had friends.”

Cullen wants to ask more about the man, but they have entered the woods and there is much to discuss, from the safety of the paths, to the chopping down of trees. 

“The woods may not seem big from the outside, but people have gone missing in here and never turned up. Follow only the paths with the stones laid either side - never follow any other markers - and if you hear someone in distress, remember the spot and run to the town to fetch others.”

Cullen, who has fought alongside this man in far more dangerous places, scoffs. 

“I'm serious. The woods can be treacherous, especially to newcomers. That's why we'll be working together. There are two others who will join us later, and they will work with one another too. But don't look so worried - stick to the paths and you'll have no trouble at all.”

They celebrate that evening with a drink. Isabela, Carver, and Varric join them and, once they have had their moment to see the changes in the man, the tables turn slightly with the stories Rylen knows of the other locals who have been here longer. Cullen finds himself eager to ask about Father Vael once more, but feels Rylen disapproves of him slightly and it angers Cullen - how could a man so kind and dedicated to God cause Rylen to be so cold?

It takes a few days before Cullen is confident in his new job, and he requests that he might keep his Fridays free. Rylen agrees easily but shakes his head as Cullen explains his voluntary position at The Kitchen. 

“I think every new person to the island has worked there since Sebastian returned. But it's a good thing he's got going. Closer to Christmas, it's not just the neighbouring towns that come - it's people from the whole island.”

“I think that's the first nice thing you've said about him.”

Rylen hesitates. “I don't dislike him. His family was just… always unsettling. And the man he is now is not the man he was. I can't tell if he's pretending.”

“Perhaps if you gave him a chance. We all change.”


	6. The Fête

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement, fine folk of discord!

Cullen has lived on the island now for over a month. He has a job, he has The Kitchen, he has friends old and new - and he has his mysterious benefactor. 

“The Wulver?” Rylen asks, half laughing. “Old wives’ tale. Nana used to tell stories but they were just that - stories. She'll tell you the last sighting was when she was a girl, but bear in mind she's the one who “saw” it. There's a spot where it likes to fish, see. Whoever is leaving fish, knows the story and is taking some perverse pleasure in keeping it alive. But, you're getting fish, the island is getting its legend, so what's the harm?”

Later, Merrill tells him the Wulver is and has always been what it is; half man, half wolf, “but not like the legends of the mainland or Europe. He is not ruled by the moon and he does not change.”

“Some say it's a curse,” Varric tells him one evening, cleaning a glass behind the bar. “A cruel man treated people like a beast, so he became one. In order to undo the curse, he devoted himself to helping those in need.”

It is Anders who warns him to leave it well alone, to accept the gift but seek no deeper meaning. But Cullen cannot let it go. 

His drive is worsened by the winter fête. With the rumours of the beast's return, the craft stalls are full of wolves and half wolves and Cullen finds himself trying to avoid them, the eyes of villagers on him as its most recent victim - or charity case. 

“Ah, Cullen. There you are! What do you think of our stall?”

He gazes up at the banner which he had not paid attention to. “The Kitch Knits,” he reads out loud. 

“Yes, we have a little knitting circle on Tuesdays. I'm afraid my talents are limited to scarves. ”

“Knitching,” Cullen says thoughtfully, still looking at the sign. He regrets it immediately, turning red, but the priest rescues him with a gift; a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon.

“Here, Merrill made a fine set I thought you might like. As a thank you for your help.”

Surprised, Cullen removes his hand from the table to take it, but keeps hold of the jumper he was looking at. Father Vael spots it and pales slightly. 

“Oh, no. No. That shouldn't be here. Merrill was supposed to pull it apart... “

Cullen holds it to his chest protectively. “Why?”

“It's a failed attempt. Please,” he holds his hand out for it. 

“It's also a bargain. And unique.”

“It won't even fit.”

Cullen’s face flattens at the challenge and he shrugs off his coat, laying it over the table before pulling is jumper up over his face. As he's taking it off, something caresses his stomach and he jerks back with a snort. 

“I’m so sorry!” Father Vael's hands are up in defense and he's red now. “I was just tugging your shirt back down.”

Cullen laughs awkwardly and brushes it off; he's always been ticklish there. To hide his embarrassment a little longer, he pulls on the new jumper - red and gold with its wonky pattern and overlong sleeves. They drape far past his hands as he looks down. The body of the jumper fits him like a glove. Though it indeed tapers in, it hugs his body as if made specifically for him. 

“See?” He grins, holding his arms out, sleeves flapping. 

“I told you somebody would want it,” a pretty girl smiles softly as she stands beside the priest.

“Bethany… Did you do this?”

“Me?” she asks, all innocence. “You made it, I simply set up the stall with what I was given. You were right, though - it really is his colour.”

Sebastian looks horrified but swallows it down and makes the introductions before Cullen can ask any questions; Bethany Hawke is Carver's twin. She is home for Christmas having been studying abroad. She is a pleasant girl and seems to have all the gentleness her brother lacks. As she takes her leave, Sebastian turns back to Cullen. 

“I can't let you buy that.”

“You'll have to, otherwise it will be theft - and then I'll have to go to confession and tell the really nice father.”

“Father Roderick? I suppose he's still more forgiving than Sister Elthina.”

Roderick is the island's actual priest, but Father Vael is picking up the slack and covering for absences, as well as running the more social activities.

“She would come down very hard, so it looks like I have no choice but to pay.”

Almost reluctantly the Father agrees and gives Cullen his gift: a hat, and scarf and gloves the colour of the stormy sea and sky and mist between. They're beautiful, certainly, but Cullen rolls his long sleeves up proudly and refuses to take the jumper off. 

“There's a lot of… wulvers.”

“Yes,” Vael grimaces. “The passion for them has been reignited. Let's hope there are few tourists or I suspect you'll start getting night time vigils outside the cottage.”

“I've been tempted myself,” he admits. “But it seems… ungrateful.”

“Uh oh,” a familiar voice grunts, with its equally familiar hand drawing around Cullen's waist and pulling him hip to hip with Rylen. “Talking temptation with Father Vael here?”

Cullen tuts and makes to speak, but Rylen nods at the stall. “Got any balaclavas? If I get one more ‘kind comment’ about my ugly mug, I'm gonna--”

“They're just surprised your looks could improve so much.”

Rylen's thumb comes down to teasingly stroke the scar on Cullen's lip. 

“Yeah, yeah, pretty boy,” Rylen laughs. 

Cullen fights back, asking Father Vael if they have a balaclava that covers mouths too, but the Father has retreated. For a moment he glances back at the friends and Cullen's heart sinks at the disapproving expression.


	7. The Ghosts of Nightmares Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of slight gore and unpleasant memories ahead.

Life is hectic and the days mercifully full, but Cullen is more relaxed than he has been in a long time. The fish - if there - is collected first, in the dark of the early morning. Breakfast is made the night before, along with lunch. He packs the food, takes the new lantern, and makes the cold, dark journey to town. Some days he is afraid, but then he thinks of the friendly Wulver and imagines it watching over him. 

Work is hard but fulfilling, the forest enchanting and yet to feel threatening. Rylen tells him it rarely is threatening, and that is the problem. 

They eat breakfast upon arriving at the day’s site, work, take lunch when the sun is high, and after it is done, Cullen is free to do as he chooses. He shops for food, visits The Kitchen, has a drink - whatever he wishes that day. But he has begun going home more often now, both eager and afraid to be alone with his thoughts. 

Books help, and he finds a chessboard at the Fête. It is damaged and pieces are missing, but for now he uses shells and coins and, when he isn't taking a match against himself, spends time fixing the board and carving new pieces. It reminds him a little of Rylen; scarred and yet beautiful in its own way. Still purposeful and enjoyable. And he envies them both, for he would rather bear their outer scars, visible damage, wounds that have closed and healed. Unlike his own.

 

Friday rolls round, the first in December, and Cullen is greeted with a bright, smiling face when he opens his door. 

“Good morning, Merrill. What are you doing all the way out here?”

Still smiling at him, she holds out her hand. In it is a small cotton pouch, the type Anders has hanging up about Dr Adan’s clinic. 

“I wanted to give you these. Anders and I went walking along the by sea the other day and collected them. He said I should walk you to the town for once, since you always fetch me. I don't think he meant it unkindly,” she says, her voice wavering into worry. 

Cullen thanks her, assures her he enjoys collecting her as it's on his way, and opens the pouch to find shells, washed and ready to hang in the trees around his cottage, something he began doing after seeing them decorating a stall at the Fête. He likes the sound they make in the wind, as it helps him remember where he is and that it is the closest thing to paradise on Earth. The nicest ones he keeps aside, not wanting them to get chipped. They sit, for now, on the other side of the glass to the spot where the Wulver leaves his fish. 

There is none this morning, so Cullen collects his coat and they walk together, and Merrill tells him about the Selkies of the island. 

“They're like mermaids, but they're seals in the water and human on land. Always one or the other, not both. And not always friendly. Although I don't think mermaids are that friendly either.”

“You know a lot about…”

“Fairies?” she asks, with a mischievous twinkle. “Elves and Wulvers and Boggarts.”

He nods and asks precisely why she knows so much and she simply shrugs and explains she already learnt what she needed back home so now she studies the island. 

“And what about the Wulver?” he asks. “Do you think he's real?”

She nods eagerly. “Oh yes, but I've never seen him. I think I would like to, but they say he doesn't like to be sought out. You're very blessed to be visited.”

“Is he friendly?” Cullen asks, but he suspects he knows the answer already. 

“So long as you don't seek him out,” she warns, with a nod. 

Talk turns to his hat and scarf as they reach town and Merrill speaks of Bethany and how pleased they both were that Cullen found the Father's jumper. 

"I liked it,” he admits. 

Merrill hums thoughtfully as they turn into the town square, the council building to one side, shop faces on another. Then there is the small green park, with its prison like iron fencing. And then there is The Town Hall, from which The Kitchen serves the community. A blast of warm air greets them as they enter. 

“Sebastian tried very hard, but said it wasn't good enough,” she frowned. 

"It is good enough. It just looked a little sad and unloved. I couldn't let someone's hard work go to waste. Besides, it's unique."

"He thinks you're unique too. You are. Everyone is. But he looks at you like he's never looked at anyone."

Cullen almost trips on his feet. "I-I'm nothing special."

"Maybe you're like the jumper to him.” 

"Sad and unloved?" he asks.

She turns red and he elbows her gently.

"Who's sad and unloved?" Sebastian asks from the doorway. 

"Cullen."

He elbows her again. "I am not. Well. I'm not sad at least."

Father Vael’s brushes across his shoulder as the takes his coat, hanging it up. He returns for the scarf and hat while Cullen apologises, thanks him, hurries to remove them lest the man think he has to be babied entirely. 

"Nor are you unloved. I should think,” the priest says, with a shy smile. 

 

Cullen's Friday is as welcome and happy as those before it until the sun begins to set and he sees a group of uniforms near the town square. Father Vael points a woman out as Marian Hawke, the eldest of the Hawke siblings, and the small, frowning man beside her as her husband. 

He tries to listen, tries to take interest in the conversation, but as he is staring at the familiar uniform, his dog tags get heavier, putting pressure on the back of his neck, filling his throat with bile. 

“She's good friends with Varric, I'll introduce you at the pub. Cullen?” the priest puts a hand in his arm and he snaps back to the present, excusing himself quickly and quietly before leaving. “N-not tonight,” he apologises. 

 

He has run a long way, but the nightmares have found him and begun creeping in through the cracks, widening them. 

Most nights he wakes with a start, holds a cushion close to himself and muffles a moan and soaks up a stray tear, but tonight he wakes already screaming. 

The demons have followed him from the nightmares and he's in their grasp. He tells himself he will not allow it, shaking and sweating, swallowing it down, but a sound outside the cottage draws his attention to the window. Outside of which is the head of a wolf, too high up, too level to a human, and the hand pressed on the glass is too human too, and Cullen screams again. 

It pushes away and runs - and Cullen's instinct is to flee too, it always is when the others run, aware of some known danger. He doesn't know what it is, but he runs, takes his path to the town in the dark without light, seeking safety, and finally collapses in the centre by the new stone structure where the uniforms had stood, commemorating those lost in war - those Cullen envied, and those that weigh him down with the guilt of not being in their ranks. 

He has seen a man with the head of the wolf, but it is not this which he fears, nor does he disbelieve his eyes. His mind wanders to another head - human, moving, rotting. To things in war he can longer deny the existence of. He curls forward, pulling at his hair, knowing he can longer run. 

A hand touches his shoulder and he moves so fast that he faints.


	8. The Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little man is suffering. But he's surrounded by love. :)

The first thing Cullen notices, beyond a headache, is that he is in a real bed. The mattress feels like a luxury after sleeping on a sofa and he almost can't bear to let himself wake. But a slow, groggy memory creeps in on him, of hospital beds and restraints and doctors and drugs. 

He tries to scream, but even screams get lodged in his throat - never as bad as words, but enough to make him want to vomit. He can hear his awful moaning, can remember being berated for it - for disturbing other patients. Long sterile corridors and white rooms. Uniforms and doctors and decisions. It looked different to the prisoner camp, but didn't always feel different. 

He rolls over, emptying the contents of his stomach off the side of the bed as the door flies open. He needs to get to his knees and clean the mess - he needs to prove he's alright, that he can leave, but hands pull him back onto the bed and he tries to fight until he's pulled against someone's chest, like a child. And it feels safer than anything else right now. Breath tickles his hair as Father Vael murmurs calming words close to his ear. He is reminded of the peace he feels at church and at The Kitchen and tries to hold onto that as desperately as he holds on to the man. 

The moment is broken as Anders rushes into the room, voice frightened and then somewhat relieved as he questions them both. 

Cullen doesn't speak, but digs his fingers tighter into the priest's shirt, trembling. There is a slight movement as a hand comes to the side of his head, brushing hair back across his temple. 

“Well. You're awake, then,” Anders sighs. “Sebastian, would you get Rylen? I imagine he'll be up by now.”

Cullen tries to say his friend’s name, but it comes out stuttered and half formed.

Sebastian stands and Cullen clings to his arm, trying to follow him up before he's eased back down gently. He sees a mask on the side table, can already smell the rubber and gas and he wants to vomit again, but instead he lets out a sob and hides himself under the covers in shame. 

“I can't leave him.” Father Vael sounds almost as desperate as Cullen feels, and he wants to call to him, make him stay. But he’s afraid to try and too ashamed of the need in it. 

“With all due respect, he needs more than prayer and Doctor Adan isn't here. I'll stay with him, but I think we need Rylen. He'll be a comfort and hopefully help shed some light on what might have happened.”

Cullen jumps as the bed dips and a hand finds his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles. He knows it is not Father Vael and hears the man's footsteps fade, wanting to follow. 

“It's alright, Cullen,” Anders says, “Just a bad memory, perhaps? But you're safe here, I promise. I'm just going to fetch a cloth and bucket and then I'll be right here beside you.”

He is kind, but feels like a poor substitute. 

The hand disappears and Cullen tries to regain control of his breathing, but the harder he tries, the harder it becomes, until dark edges circle his vision and he shuts his eyes tight. He doesn't want the mask or the drugs. He has to be in control before someone sees he's not. 

He's gasping when Anders returns, and holds to the blanket as tight as he can when the man tries to pull it away. The struggle ceases and the hand returns to his shoulder, stroking, while another searches under the blanket, leaving a musky smelling pouch near Cullen's face. He clutches it, holds it to his nose, and breathes it in as slowly as he can, only vaguely aware of a tune being hummed. 

He doesn't know how much time passes or when his breaths return to normal, but the hand pulls away and another ruffles over his head. 

“Come on, pal, let's see that handsome face of yours,” Rylen’s voice says, feigning calmness despite being breathless. 

Cullen shakes his head and so Rylen simply shoves him further along the bed, climbing on behind him. 

He can hear Anders scrubbing and Father Vael asking questions, so he covers his ears, and falls asleep. Rylen will take over from here, he knows, won't let anything bad happen - won't push him too hard. 

Consciousness comes in brief moments between nightmares and discomfort. Sometimes the room is empty, sometimes Rylen is watching him, trying to smile before he can be caught frowning. 

“Finally got rid of Sebastian,” he says, eyebrows quirking up as though it had been quite a challenge. “Anders is… somewhere. Did you hear the shouting?”

Cullen knows his words won't come out right, so he simply shakes his head. 

“I guess that's good. But I'm getting you out of here when you think you can stand. You've got one man trying to save your soul, the other one trying to study you. Frankly, even Granny's liquor museum of a house sounds like a great option. I swear she's got opium hidden somewhere from her youth.”

Cullen sits up for the first time, squinting about the room. No straps, no machines - just the gas, the little pouch of herbs, and cold tea. 

This isn't the hospital of his past and his nightmares and that, at least, offers some relief. 

“St-st-stud-d-”

“Anders was against the war. Against all wars. He's writing some… book or research, I dunno. Wants you as a poster boy. Usually he writes about his friend, I'm told. Died out there.”

“L-l-l-”

Rylen smacks him gently. “Not lucky. _We're_ lucky. I've got a wife, we're going to get you hitched, and we'll die old men, shouting at seagulls.”

He gives Cullen a change of clothes and offers an arm, leading him out of the small Doctor’s office and straight to his Granny's. 

She has cooked a meal that smells of whisky, but Cullen goes straight to the spare room with a glass of water and a tray of crackers, and lies down, staring out of the window. 

Most of his nightmares are memories, but some are infused with more fiction. He remembers the Wulver pulling him to safety in a ruined church in one of them, and wonders if he frightened his friend away with his screaming. 

He's had enough enemies to know a friend - even one with the head of a wolf.


	9. The Three Guardians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen begins to heal his wounds with a little help from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Cullenlovesmen for her hard work as a beta, but also as a friend.
> 
> I'm sorry its been so long. And sorry it IS long. This chapter. For me, anyway. And I hope it's OK.

Cullens days are a blur, but there is always someone to anchor him through each stormy sea. Always someone to guide him back when the current tries to carry him away.

Anders through the morning, making sure he wakes at a reasonable hour, that he washes and dresses and eats well. Granny has him after lunch, plying him with whisky and telling him stories about Rylen’s youth. Anything to embarrass one grandson and entertain the new grandson she has claimed of Cullen. They tease Rylen when he returns from the woods, tired and hungry, as they eat.

Father Vael’s duty comes in the evening, when his other work is done, talking and soothing Cullen to sleep, sometimes holding him through nightmares should he still be there when they come. At first the priest was awkward and shy, but Cullen seems to find peace with him, as he had the first time after he was found. Cullen forgets that there are still some who never spent fearful days and nights in the trenches, huddled for warmth and comfort. 

  
  


"He's not who you think he is, you know?"

Rylen is home from a day of work, exhausted and cold, and he sits by the fire with a blanket over his legs and warm slippers on his feet. Such things have become necessary as the weather aggressively worsens for the winter. Granny and Cullen have had theirs all day, wrapping the blankets about their shoulders as they shuffle about the cottage.

"Don't let the priest collar fool you, he owns half the island."

Cullen huffs and rolls his eyes. Rylen, though once considered a friend of the priest’s, says the friendship was very much forced on them by their grandparents. He was - and remains - wary of the Vael family, even if there is only the sole surviving member of it now. He speaks of him as a greedy, dismissive boy with a roving eye.

"He ran away from home once, came here. Granny was always trying to persuade me to be his playmate, so I suppose this was the only place he knew outside of his castle. She let him in, warmed him up, and fed him. It was a bad winter, we had barely anything but we had to share it with him. You know what he did? He cried, threw a tantrum because he was still hungry. He wanted more, demanded more."

Granny comes in with hot toddy on a tray, handing it out to them. "He was only a boy. He'd never gone hungry before."

Rylen scowls; it is no excuse to him. "What about when he stole his brother’s betrothed?"

Granny sits with her own drink, pours a little more whisky in and offers the bottle around. The men shake their heads and she puts it back in her pocket. "That girl was never intended for his brother. Sebastian met her at university, fell in love and then made the mistake of bringing her back here to meet his family."

There is silence for a moment before Rylen dismisses it as a lie, Cullen feeling a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach that he refuses to acknowledge for what it is. Why would he be jealous of a stranger, after all.

"If you listened to me instead of gossip you would know. Old Master Vael thought the girl was pretty enough and pleasant enough for his eldest son to wed."

Cullen looks to his friend who clearly does not wish to be defeated in his dislike of the priest.

"Either way, they've always been a weird family. You'd be better off putting your sights on Anders."

Granny pulls a thoughtful face and Cullen curls a little deeper into the blanket.

Anders has shown interest. His touches have been both and invitation and an offer, patiently awaiting response. Cullen knows these signals; they were frequent enough among soldiers, but they offered nothing more than quick relief, physical satisfaction. There was no heart in it, and for most of his life, Cullen never knew a heart could become so attached.

But the way Father Vael touches him has made him crave more. He is soft and tender and keenly focused. The way he watches Cullen, measures his mood, even before everything happened; when he was a simple volunteer. A new member of the flock; a timid, uncertain member.

Rylen's touch is full of tenderness and love, but there is no longing for anything more from either of them. Their relationship is built on brotherhood and trust and safety; a completely different kind of love.

As Granny and Rylen debate a good match for Cullen, ranging from the younger Hawke sister to Varric to the fisherman's sister, his own mind wanders to the old mystery of the Wulver. One of the few thoughts that doesn't drag him back into the darkness of the past. 

  
  


Anders brings fish again, the same as the Wulver would bring, but already cooked and smelling divine. He scolds Granny for getting his patient drunk as she flavours the rest of his food and drink with alcohol, and ushers her out of the kitchen as he prepares the rest before sitting with Cullen in the livingroom. He's learnt not to push Cullen for answers or press too eagerly for opinions, and soon Cullen learns to feel at ease. He speaks to him, when he can. A long and stuttering process, but it is easier with Anders: he understands Cullen on the level of a medic and a soldier.

"I was out there, you know," he explains one day. "First as a soldier…" He hesitates, looks at Cullen cautiously and thoughtfully before deeming it safe to continue. "I ran away to join the resistance. There were too many innocents being hurt. I wanted to help. We hurt other innocent people, I'm sure but… But it wasn't the same. We weren't acting on some strategised game made by men sat at big desks, in comfort. We made difficult decisions and we paid the price too…"

Cullen watches him, sees the man's face change from regret to determination. He reaches out and places a hand on his knee, a small gesture that could be taken more than one way, and Anders smiles sadly.

It's a nice change to offer comfort rather than need it and, selfishly, he hopes it continues.

Where Father Vael relies on gentle touch and talk, Anders offers musky smelling elixirs and sometimes songs or silence. Rylen has jokes and rants and gently rough touches, shoving and squeezing. Granny offers spirits to raise his own. Between them all he drifts from day to day, slowly but certainly coming home.

Though the nightmares are rarer when Father Vael watches over him some evenings, snoozing on the seat or the edge of the bed, breath rushing and fading like the waves, leaving him comforted yet almost homesick for the cottage.

  
  


Cullen wakes, alone. For a moment he is confused, afraid, but he hears voices and walks slowly and silently to the half open door to listen.

The three guardians are out there, Anders and Father Vael asking about the war and what it had done to Cullen.

Rylen tries to brush it off, saying he only knows what he saw, that Cullen refuses to speak of it. And he is right; Cullen doesn't even like to think of it, as his account of events is wildly different to those he has been told by superiors and doctors.

He escaped capture, so much time lost to him in a prison camp. He found a small group. They were attacked. He attempted to rescue the only other survivor, just a boy, eyes staring wide and afraid, mouth opening and closing but the only sound a strangled gurgle. By the time he made his way back to relative safety, to his men, something had happened. They stared on in horror, told him things he couldn't comprehend. It was a storm after that, ending in silent white rooms and doctors and drugs and tests and torture. He remembers being certain he was still in enemy hands, believing his own people would never harm him like they did.

He hears Rylen's words again in his memories, shouting at Cullen, begging him to accept what had truly happened so he could get out of the hospital.

_ "It was a head. Just a head. You carried it God knows how long, how far. You'd been feedi-" _

An image comes to his head and he gags, retreating to the bedroom, but it is white now and there are straps on the bed, the smell of stale milk and oats. He bursts out as the three men make it to the doorway and runs out of the cottage to the garden, bending double, trying to clear the white spots, trying to breathe and swallow down the bile. He hears the three behind him, all talking at once, bustling towards him, and he sets off quickly, down the path with no destination in mind.

"Cullen."

The voice is soft and not far behind. He looks up and sees the tree line, wonders how dangerous the forest truly is after all he's seen. Wonders where the Wulver might be. In there?

"Cullen," Father Vael repeats, closer now. He holds out Cullen’s red coat, fur the same brown grey of his monstrous friend, and Cullen stares at it, until the priest slowly begins to lift his arm through the sleeve. He helps, slowly, still quiet until a scarf is tied around his neck, he pulls back, loosening it though it was barely up to his neck. The hat comes next, hands gently pulling it down over his ears. Lastly he holds out a pair of boots that had been tied and slung over his shoulder. Shivering, Cullen looks down to the slippers on his feet and changes them, the priest keeping him balanced as he does. 

"Let's walk together," the priest says, satisfied.

He sees the priest wear a soft smile. He's on the island, untouched by war, besides the sons and daughters lost to it on far away shores. His mind slowly pulls away from its defenses, from seeking the safest path, the quickest escapes. Step by step, he leaves the past a little further behind, wrapped in the gifted armour from Sebastian.

"Cullen."

The voice brings him back and the man takes his arm, leading him along the tree line, further than he's ever been before on the island. "I need to fetch something from home. I thought I might show you something."

Cullen nods and looks behind, but they are alone. Anders and Rylen did not follow.

"May I ask you something? It's quite personal, but you see... Hilda, Rylen’s wife, is my cousin," the priest begins. Once Cullen looks to him and nods, he continues. "You and Rylen. You're very close and… As I say, Hilda is my cousin. Have you… Are you-"

Something breaks the storm in Cullen and he coughs out a laugh. Shaking his head, he stops Father Vael and laughs again. It's a rusty sound, unpracticed.

"No, then," the priest blushes.

Cullen swallows, made a little braver at having laughed and offers one simple explanation: “B-broth-ther."

This time the priest scoffs. "No, you're far closer than brothers. In my experience, anyway. Mine were quite awful, God rest their souls."

They continue on in companionable silence, arm in arm, until they come by old stone walls, half destroyed by time and harsh weather.

There is a large tree with a thick trunk and winding branches. It looks unmovable yet alive, as though it might reach out its tentacles on dark nights to steal away trespassers. Beneath it is a rotting platform that suddenly makes sense of the eeriness.

It is a hanging tree.

"This is the first step into Vael property from the villages. A hanging tree. The first impression set upon my family home." He nods to the distance where a large, stately home sits, foreboding and cold. Cullen can't imagine it as a home. Too large, too solitary. 

"I was always afraid of this tree. All of us children were. My brothers would bring Hilda and the cousins down and laugh as they cried. They tied me to it once too. I'm quite certain I cried then. But despite that, they were equally as afraid. The eldest remembered seeing a hanging when he was very young. There was another when I was a boy and we begged for the tree to be removed. We were afraid of the ghosts that would linger, afraid of the past on our doorstep, this further wall between us and the island. We even made plans to have it removed once the house was my brother's."

He looks to Cullen, and Cullen nods for him to continue.

"My grandfather overheard and scolded us all. This was not only our history, but the history of those lost, and the history of the island. To erase the memory would be disrespectful and unhealthy. It is unpleasant, but it is a part of history, of people's lives." He pauses, eyes wandering to the dark windows of his childhood home. 

"When I came back to the island, it took a long time to change people's perceptions of me. Of the Vael name and my own selfish actions as a young man. But I couldn't pretend none of that existed. I could only accept it and grow and, over time, my world opened up."

He is still holding Cullen's arm and squeezes it gently.

"What I'm trying to say is that… Things can't be forgotten no matter how much we wish it so. Don't hide the past, accept it. I'm not asking you to tell me what happened or to brush it aside. But denying it is hurting you." His expression is sad, but imploring. It doesn't hold the worried frustration of Rylen or the pity of so many others. "I can't bear to see it."

He turns to Cullen, pressing a hand to his cheek. "You know you can speak to me. As Father Vael if you need, but… As your friend Sebastian too."

Cullen knows his eyes are wet, but Father Vael, Sebastian, has seen worse these past few days. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, nodding gently, savouring the contact as he begs the terrible memories to wait a moment, to give him this.

"Still with me?" his friend whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

Sebastian's thumb gently wipes away the wetness that rolls down Cullen's cheek. The tear is not for the memories or the lost souls. It is for himself, for plunging over the edge he has been dancing along, trying to avoid. He has fallen in love.


	10. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to get back to normal. And sometimes normal means a touch of the unusual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullenlovesmen is amazing for everything as always. Go read A Love Long Lost. It's all published because she's organised and amazing.

In the early years of the war, Cullen was put on a ship. The men were still young and full of hope, yet to suffer the horrors they soon would. There was death and fear, but also hope and pride. It was the latter that powered them and little were they to know that it would not last. 

The sky had started out cloudy, but with a bright white sheet of clouds that seemed to promise a fair day. Soon, however, it darkened. The sea became almost as black and grey as the clouds and began to rise and dip and climb and fall as the waves grew angrier and angrier. Rain and sea water whipped at them in the strong winds that followed and the men began to panic. Three of them took a lifeboat, afraid of the size of the ship, of being dragged down by such a monstrous weight. 

Rylen took his arm, suggested they follow. Cullen had trained him and urged his superiors to keep him in mind for a promotion. He'd joined the army at the outbreak of war, where Cullen had served since becoming orphaned. Yet Rylen was the first true friend he had made, breaking through Cullen's all too serious exterior and finding the promising charm he'd had as a younger man. 

But Cullen held his arm and shook his head, trying to bark orders to rescue the men. The small boat they'd seen as salvation was becoming battered, the waves swallowing it up and spitting it out. When he turned, he found nobody had listened. Chaos had erupted; men tried to untie more boats. 

By the time the storm has passed, three boats were lost along with many more men. Not a single man who had jumped ship could be rescued. 

All except one. 

A lucky young man named Alistair was found, miraculously, holding tight to what remained of a boat.

Anders and Sebastian had been the ship. Unable to stop the storm, but the safest protection from it. Now he only hopes that, having jumped, he can keep afloat. 

Rylen tells them they are no longer required daily, though Anders will be on call as nurse. Cullen survives three nights before Anders is brought in to sedate him, in the hopes that he might get some sleep. He does not like the needle and Rylen is almost nervous as he holds him down, looking at him with the fear and reverence he was accustomed to as a commander. As a prouder man. Stronger. 

As Anders packs up and Cullen feels the shadows pull him down into unconsciousness, he hears Sebastian; worried, angry, desperate. He tries to call the priest’s name, but it is too late: darkness descends upon him in a heavy, empty sleep. 

But he remembers it the next morning and feels sick with guilt. He is avoiding Sebastian because he is weak, and it is unkind. Sebastian deserves better - so much better - but perhaps he will hate Cullen for this and keep his distance -- and perhaps that will be good for him. 

Work comes soon after; Anders has given in and supplied drugs to help Cullen sleep. He prefers herbs and concoctions, but the situation is desperate. Sometimes, as Cullen waits for them to work, Anders tells him more of his own exploits. Of desertion and beatings, imprisonment and escape. And Cullen assures him there is no shame in desertion. Not really. Though, secretly, he is glad most were too fearful for it. They all wanted to run, but few were brave enough, and, had they found the courage, would the war have been won at all? 

Surprisingly, hearing another's memories of the war comforts him. He is not alone. He is not the only one broken by the things he saw and did; they all are.

But work is an ever more welcome distraction. The weather has gotten worse and Cullen has been brought clothes from his cottage. He asked after it, sorry to have abandoned her, and Anders assures him the cottage is well. The door, he said, seemed locked, but soon gave way. There was no mess, no rodents making a home: only the old food which Anders has now cleared. And while it is good to be in his own clothes, he wonders how nice it would be to be in the cottage. She's still not quite his own, but he feels they accept one another and where his friends have been the ship, she is the distant harbour he is journeying towards. 

"Hilda will be here tomorrow," Rylen tells him. 

He knows this already, but nods. Rylen’s swings have become heavier, each stroke of the axe rough and harder than the last. It has been building; Rylen is like a landmine. It's better to tread carefully. 

Now, however, Cullen feels they are a safe distance from everything else and lays a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. Rylen jerks away, before throwing the axe down and turning to him, shoulders slumping. 

"She's my wife. I have no desire to hurt her. Why am I so afraid I will? I never think of it happening. I don't… I don't sit and consider what I could do. I'm just afraid of seeing her," his confession is quiet, fast, distraught.

Cullen leads him to a fallen tree to sit on, and they sit close enough that their shoulders meet and he can nudge their knees together. 

"But I did hurt her. You remember? How could you forget. I just wanted to take her hand to cross the tracks. I thought I heard a train I- I didn't mean to grab her so tight."

Cullen puts a hand on Rylen’s arm, needing the moment to form the words; "She knows." Confident with those, he continues. "A-and she talks-s like a s-s-s-" 

"Like Sergeant Meredith?" 

Cullen pulls a face and they both laugh, quietly. 

Nobody had met Meredith, only received orders, but the printed words had always carried a certain tone. 

Rylen admits defeat. Hilda carries a noble air. She lead the Land Girls in the summer. She taught children in the cities. She was fearless and strong. 

"Y-you always jump whhhhen s-someone shh.. Shh…" he sighs. "r-raises their voice."

Rylen’s smile is soft now, calm. 

"I know you don't always appreciate it, but I'm glad you survived. I'm glad you got me through it. Selfish maybe, but so are you when you regret making it out. Just you wait. When Spring comes and you see this island in all her glory…. It’s not worth missing for the world."

They carry on their work, even after the arrival of Hilda. She berates Cullen, for the sake of both herself and her husband who had only learnt he was here through village gossip reaching the mainland, and for his elder sister who has been trying to hunt him down. He tries to play up his stutter, but she hits him lightly with her purse and drags him through the town. His friends smile, waving eagerly, but it is a busy market day and he is quite glad to have an excuse not to linger. Though he is sure to return their silent greetings from across the square. 

They take lunch with Granny and Cullen continues to the forest, by himself. He works slowly but methodically, quite content to be completely alone, until he realises he's not. 

"Help. Help me."

He looks up. Beyond the border of the path, a little way into the woods, is an old woman. Handsome, he supposes, but the way she holds herself is younger than her years, trying to accentuate breasts that have sagged, hips that are no longer firm. 

He sees a flash of her as her younger self, perhaps. Raven hair and yellow eyes, beautiful and intimidating, imploring him still. But she is an old woman, he remembers, and the illusion is gone. 

She drops her hand and barks a laugh. "You see more than most," she tells him. "Then how about I speak more plainly. I can fix you, boy. I can mend you, give you want you want. For a price."

Words run through his head. Never stray the path, never go alone to rescue those that have. He looks to his feet and they are nestled in the dirt and leaves of the forest now. The path is behind him and the air feels too thick to move almost. It feels like his nightmares; the need to do something but unable to; held down by an invisible force. By the time he lifts a leg, a howl breaks through the space between him and the witch - for what else could she be - and his Wulver towers over her. She hisses and threatens but retreats with words too quiet for Cullen to catch. 

He can move a little now, but it still feels as though he is wading through some invisible force. Like a blast frozen in time, on the verge of knocking him back and destroying everything around him. But he is not afraid. 

Words fill his head, but only one makes it out.

"Sorry."

The beast turns and tilts its head. 

"... didn’t r-run from you."

It moves so quickly he is certain he would have stepped back, were he not trapped. But he's glad not to. He smiles, even, seeing the wolf’s face, reaching out before clenching his fist. The Wulver strokes his cheek as though giving him the permission he needs. The muzzle is warm and soft, softer still as his fingers trace back, burying into the fur at the neck, thick and mane-like, then coarser as it travels down the chest, the hairs parting in places, perfect and neat. A long finger - hairy, padded, clawed - gently lifts his face, tilts it so that the muzzle can move against his neck. In contrast, a cold wet nose sniffs at him, breathing him in, breath huffing back out, a ghost of where it had been. And the Wulver does this slowly, from one stretch of neck to the nest of curls, along his jaw, as though mapping out Cullen’s shape. His smell. 

Cullen looks up from his own hands, exploring the grey and white fur along a strong shoulder. The wulver is tall, thin in places, a bulk of muscle in others. And the eyes… The eyes are amber, not the blue he suddenly realises he wanted to see. These puzzle pieces come together slowly, revealing another man who has been there for him, whom he admires. Whom he knows desires him, to some extent. But before Anders' name leaves his lips, the cold nose tickles and he shudders, giving a small laugh. 

Could it really be him? Would it change things if it were? 

The storm has slowed, the seas calmed, and he is floating. He is at the mercy of this larger force, needing only to close his eyes and breathe. Though that breath soon becomes a gasp as something heavy rests against his belly. He can feel the length and weight of it even through his coat and cannot help but step back and lower his gaze. 

He croaks out an apology, but peeks again at the beasts appendage. Long and thick, pink and hanging loose from a furry bulge. 

The clawed hand is gone, the lupine ears twitching as the Wulver looks to the distance. He muzzles Cullen's hair before fleeing, just as a voice calls out. 

"Cullen! What are you doing?!" 

Rylen is at the edge of the path, only a meter away, but almost looking through him, shouting louder than he needs, begging Cullen to return, reaching out to guide him but unable to take a single step closer. 

Calmly, Cullen takes the few steps out of the woods, only for Rylen to leap back in shock and confusion. But it passes quickly as he grabs him. "What were you doing?!" 

"Th-thought I saw something," he shrugs. 

Rylen questions him all the way home, making guesses, talking of things people have seen before. Including a woman with raven hair and yellow eyes. Cullen considers for a moment but shakes his head. He did not see her, but it seems unwise to say he saw the thing that tries to be her. 

The next morning Rylen enters his room, Hilda peering excitedly over his shoulder. 

"Are you sure you don't know what you saw?" he asks, holding up a fish, wrapped in paper. The Wulver has visited. 

Cullen can only grin and climb out of bed to inspect it. 

 

 


	11. The Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen begins his return to society.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, cullenlovesmen, as always!

Cullen is becoming braver. He does not know what causes it, though he feels it is at least partly the reappearance of his guardian and friend. The relinquishing of guilt he carried for running away that night. And now he knows that he must seek forgiveness from another he has run from. 

Picking up the fish, he tells Granny he intends to take it to the Kitchen. 

Hilda and Rylen have taken a stroll, and Cullen is glad he can make the journey alone, able to take his time and gather his nerves. 

He arrives early, intending to catch Sebastian alone, again securing a situation he is comfortable with. The ability to escape should he wish. 

But Sebastian is not there. Cullen worries for a moment as it is so unlike the man who dedicates his time so selflessly. 

As he waits, his eyes wander to the square outside the window of the hall. He sees the memorial, remembers the uniforms that flung him back into chaos, screaming, begging not to go back. And he remembers holding Rylen through those moments too, his face covered in bandages. Then, he thinks of Anders' stories, how he must have begged the same. Rylen was right: they all had scars, though he has yet to see where the medic keeps his.

"Cullen?" 

Never has a voice so soft sent a man jumping as Cullen does, but before he can try to brush it off, find the words to express to Sebastian how sorry he is, Merrill rushes through the front of the kitchen, almost jumping into Cullen's arms, stopping only when she sees what is already in them. 

"The Wulver has been?" she blushes as Sebastian - who is equally as red in the face, though it seems more from exertion - clears his throat. 

"It's good to see you," he adds, sincerely. Once the fish is taken from him by the woman he recognises as the youngest Hawke sibling, Merrill finally embraces him tight and cheerfully, and without questioning his absence. 

The priest tries to make his way closer, but it is Anders' turn to interrupt, sauntering in through the backdoor whence Sebastian has come and giving Cullen a questioning look before seeing the fish and smiling to himself. "We do still have food, you know."

"I...yes," Cullen nods. He wants to speak more but the sudden fear that he will stutter, show weakness to those who have seen it and those who have not, holds him back. 

"Don't tell me," the medic continues, rescuing him, "you missed us." 

"The cooking," he manages, though not as nonchalantly as he intends. 

"That can be remedied." Sebastian's smile is small and almost sad, striking Cullen through the chest. 

"N-not only th-that-" Cullen sputters out. Merrill takes the hand he has lifted, reaching out to Sebastian, and leads him to a table to sit him down. While she talks about all that has been happening, Cullen notices that some warmth has returned to Sebastian and hopes those words, for now, are enough to keep them friends.

His visit is easier than he expects, though he still counts down the moments until he can be alone to collect himself. It is a promising sign for the next night, Christmas Eve. He eats like a man starved as the group excitedly tell him how tomorrow they will share a meal at Varric's pub, sing songs with anyone who wishes to join, drink and exchange presents. 

Cullen's eyes open wide, his mouth hanging open, but Anders lifts a hand. "I collected them when I was at the cottage. They're in the clinic… I wasn't sure if you would want," his gaze flickers to the present company and he changes his excuses, "to have to drag them back and forth. I hope that's alright."

Cullen thanks him, relieved that the gifts he bought at the fête will be given out. Some are mere tokens, but some have more meaning. Those for the people here who have come to be good friends. And, frankly, for whom he had some idea what to give. He still fears they will be inadequate after the kindness he has received, but there is hope that his relationship with these people will improve the next year and the year after that. That this will be his future someday, without the haunting of his past. 

The meal finishes and Sebastian is quickly away to clear up before the usual guests arrive for their daily meal, and Cullen follows, determined. Together they stand at the sink, somewhat awkward until the priest looks at him and smiles softly. Cullen mirrors it, knowing he is truly forgiven but wanting to apologise all the same. Fate, in her twisted sense of humour, sends Hilda instead. 

"Cousin," she grins from the doorway, taking in the sight of Sebastian's work. "I have yet to convince the family of the good work you have done." Her tone is cautious and Cullen has heard her talk of Sebastian to Rylen at night. There is still some tension, some overhanging cloud of the past. But Cullen's defense of the man has inspired yet more confidence.

"I thought of asking Sebastian to marry us. Offer an olive branch, so to speak. Imagine, you could have met him sooner, come to the island. And perhaps not have disappeared without a word." Her smile turns only a touch lethal and Cullen does his duty of agreeing. 

And wondering what it would have been like had he met Sebastian sooner, in a hostile ceremony. In the uniform Sebastian wears that acts as a reminder that he is devoted to God and could never belong to Cullen. 

Of course it is all silly fantasy. The man is beautiful and kind to everyone here. Surely half the island is in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> We're also playing a game of spot the fairy tale references. Scream like a Bean-sidh if you spot any!
> 
> Beta read by Cullenlovesmen!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] The Woodcutter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18266930) by [barbex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/pseuds/barbex)




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